13 Dwarves Walk into a Hobbit Hole
by Tabbiecatt
Summary: Molly Baggins (don't call her Margaret) is just that. A Baggins. Food and gardening makes her happy. A clean home makes her happy. What does not make her the least bit happy is a load of rowdy dwarves and a nosy old wizard barging into her happy home. What was wrong with a little comfort and normality? Besides, if she did go on this 'quest' what would the neighbors think? Fem-bilbo
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note:** This will, most definitely, follow the story-line of the movies but with original scenes and dialogue. I honestly never intended to write a Hobbit fanfic but I was watching the movies and it sort of happened. The Fem-bilbo thing has been done before but I'd like to hope Molly is her own little hobbit and I hope you like her.

Thanks for reading!

 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

* * *

Molly Baggins was gardening. She _liked_ to garden; gardening was important. After all, gardening became food and food was also quite important.

She hummed softly to herself as she plucked the juiciest and the ripest tomatoes off the vine and placed them carefully in her wicker basket so as not to bruise them.

Perhaps she'd dice them together with some fish for dinner? Or half them and throw them on the griddle…so many choices.

Molly stood, brushed off her tan apron and gathered her basket. It was rather a nice day, this day; the birds were happy and singing, the sky was bright, the air not too hot but not too cold. What better day to finally touch up her front door? Been meaning to do that for ages, anyway.

So lost in thought, was she that she very nearly ran into the man waiting by her door.

"Please do excuse-oh, no."

The man regarded her as if insulted. But this was no ordinary man. This man cloaked in gray with wiry wisps escaping from his long, gray beard was a wizard and wizards were nothing but a bucket full of trouble.

"Margaret Baggins." He spoke as if they were old friends and Molly bristled like a cat. "Years and years it has been and that is my greeting?"

Molly drew herself up impressively; all three and a half feet of her. "Tis a proper greeting for the likes of you. And it's Molly, if you please."

"Molly, terribly sorry." A self-satisfied smirk painted his lips. "But where is your hospitality? Shouldn't you invite me in for a drink? For old time's sake?"

Invite him in? A man? A wizard? What would people think?

"I think not." She shook her head. "I'd never hear the end of it from Estella Greenwich, you know. It's bad enough you showing up on my doorstep. Now, if you don't mind, I've got dinner to think about."

The old wizard frowned, his eyes falling to her feet-which were well maintained, right down to the flaxen tuff of fuzz on top, thank you-and up to the strawberry corkscrew curls atop her head.

"You've changed."

Well. Didn't have to sound all gruff about it, did he?

"If you are referring to last we met," she said. "And my inappropriate behavior-I am quite sorry for throwing the rock at your head, by the way, but you did startle me-then, yes, I have changed."

There comes a time in every young hobbits life where they must grow and become respectable. Someone the grocer wouldn't mind saying hello to in the morning, someone the neighbors wouldn't whisper about. And Molly had quite enough of that already to last one lifetime, thank you very much.

"I see." He said. "It appears I've wasted my time. I had thought you might be interested in a little adventure but it seems I was wrong."  
Molly laughed incredulously. "Adventure? No, no thank you." she said it all a bit loudly, just in case anyone was listening. "Not sure there's anyone around these parts anymore aching to go on any adventure." Not since mum passed, that is.

And Gandalf was mum's friend. Perhaps she was being a tad harsh.

"I do wish you well," she offered, slipping toward her front door. "Truly I do. Good afternoon."

Before he could say anything she ran inside and locked the door securely behind her and, just to be safe, the deadbolt as well.

That was that.

Molly felt her poor heart racing from all the undue excitement as she carried her tomatoes into the kitchen to be washed.

In a few hours, it would be getting dark and her stomach was already rumbling and what better way to take her mind off what just happened then food?

Let's see….she'd need some flour and butter for the biscuits, some lemon for the fish…Oh! And some parsley. Perhaps a bit of white wine this evening? She was feeling in the mood to spoil herself.

In no time at all she was covered up to the elbows in flour and popping the biscuits in the oven. Molly washed herself off with a cloth rag and started on the fish.

By the time everything was finished, it was dark and she was quite hungry. The fish looked marvelous, the biscuits smelled divine and the snap peas she'd made on the fly looked crisp as a cracker if she did say so herself.

Molly sat down at her table and tucked a napkin neatly into the collar of her dress. Just as she was about to taste her first fork-full of fish, there was a loud knock at her door.

"What on earth?"

Visitors? She never got visitors. Surely it wasn't-

Molly swung open the door, intent on giving that wizard a piece of her mind and chiding him for interrupting her dinner-

-it wasn't Gandalf.

She gulped.

Before her was a man. Or a beast. Possibly a man-beast; there was so much fur and beard it was hard to tell.

"No soliciting, sorry!" She tried to slam the door but the brute stopped it with his meaty palm and forced his way in.

"I beg your pardon!" she shrilled. "I'm not above yelling for help and I assure you that no less than thirty hobbits will rain down on you like…like….erm."

The man-beast's lips curled into a snarl. "Are ye the hobbit?"

Molly crossed her arms across her ample chest. Course, it wasn't the _only_ part of her that could be described as 'ample'; she thought she looked perfectly hobbit-shaped.

" _A_ hobbit. I am _a_ hobbit. Molly Baggins, if you must know."

"Dwalin." He growled, sniffing the air. "Where is it, lass? He said there'd be food."

Oh no you don't. "Now see here, Dweller-"His eyes narrowed to little black beads. "Barging into a lady's home like this is beyond impolite; it is down-right rude. Please leave or I shall take measures."

"Having a wee bit trouble with the lass there, brother?"

Molly spun; if she'd had her frying pan, the man at her door would've gotten a face-full of iron. As it was he caught her startled fist easily and gently.

"Balin, at your service, lass." Quite bendy for an elderly man, she thought. Bent right at the waist he did and without a grunt or a groan.

Old Grungy down the way didn't look half as ancient and he squeaked every time he moved.

"Pardon me, but you've got the wrong house," She tried as this…Balin…entered her home and walked right up to the other one for a hug.

"Been ages, brother." They beat each other's back; it was barbaric. "You're shorter than last we met. Where'd it all go?"

"Same place your hair went, I'd imagine." Balin remarked with a smile. "Oh, I'm famished; good thing too, is that fish I smell?"

No. no. no. no. no.

"It is fish." Molly stood firm. " _My_ fish because, you see, I've only made enough for myself."

Balin smiled and his eyes crinkled gently. "No need to put yourself out, lass; we'll manage. Pantry's through here, is it?"

"Of course but-" another knock at the door cut her off. "Blast and confound it all."

Molly braced herself for the worst; she already had a speech thought up and everything. She had her-as her father called it-business face on. No one wanted to see Molly Baggins's business face. No siree.

"Excuse me, I don't know who you think you are but do not-and I repeat-do not think that you," Molly paused seeing two, younger men at her door. Both looked like right scoundrels to her. "That either of you," she amended flawlessly. "Can expect hospitality in my home by barging into it. I've had enough of that, thank you. Now, wipe those filthy boots on the mat as I'm sure you're coming in anyway."

Both boys looked to one another; they looked like younglings being chastised. And they were young; the dark-haired one seemed the youngest, the least squirrelly of the bunch by far. Poor dear didn't even have a beard yet and I'm sure I read somewhere about that being a dwarf-type thing, beards.

But that blonde one…now that was a jack the lad if I ever saw one; what with those mischievous blue eyes and delicate braids.

Molly placed her hands on her hips in a way that garnered no talk back. "Now!"

"Yes, ma'am!"

A spark of satisfaction graced her lips in a smile as the two young dwarfs scraped their boots outside on the mat.

Younglings are all the same, dwarf or no dwarf.

"Are you...Mrs. Baggins?" The dark-haired one tried.

 _Mrs.? Mrs.?_ "I am the _only_ Baggins, young lad. Molly Baggins, to be specific."

Again the two exchanged what I would call 'a look', the blonde recovered quicker and bowed respectfully. Politely. And so put on it was sickening.

"Fili, at your service, Lady Baggins."

"Erm," The dark-haired dwarf caught up and bowed as well though he was less practices and more clunky. "And Kili. Also at your service, Miss Baggins."

Molly stepped aside and gestured with her head. "Well, by all means, come on in."

The lads side-stepped and prattled on graciously about how nice her home was and was that fish they smelled? And ham.

Molly didn't prepare ham. She did, however, have a nice one hanging in the pantry-

No.

They wouldn't.

They did.

"My kitchen!" My ham! Molly nearly cried in the middle of her kitchen. She'd been saving it for a rainy day where she could prepare it properly with a nice, sweet glaze and lumps of potatoes. She was going to take some to her neighbors because that was right, that was proper.

Yet there lay her precious ham butchered down to the bone in a sad heap while the meat sizzled to death in a pan. A pan! Who cooks ham, unseasoned, in a pan!

Peelings everywhere; carrots, potatoes…it was scene of carnage. Her poor, poor pantry. All her food. Gone.

"Fili! Kili! Glad te see ye boys, grab the wine barrel."

Molly was aghast. "That barrel cost me a pretty penny, it did."

She was going to throw a little party with that; surely someone would have come.

One of the dwarves-quite unexpectedly-took her hand and kissed her knuckles. "Relax, my lady. Try to enjoy the evening."

Molly yanked her hand right back and looked up at him, right in the eye.

"I'll thank you not to take any liberties, young lad." She said firmly. "I am a respectable hobbit and far too old for the likes of you."

Fili laughed whole-heartedly. "Age is but a number, _Miss_ Baggins. Don't look a day over ninety to me."

Molly bristled like a cat.

"Eighty-five?"

Her eyes narrowed to little, blue slits.

"Seventy?" He was starting to look horrified.

"I shan't dignify that with an answer." Molly turned heel and stalked away. As she did, she heard what could only be described as a 'ruckus' at her door. Talking, laughing, banging, clanking; it was all too much for one hobbit to handle.

"I'm coming! I'm coming!" Molly threw open the door to a gathering of rowdy dwarfs. She stood like an immovable stone with her hands on her hips and her no-nonsense stare.

"All of you," She started. "Wipe. Your. Feet."


	2. Dwarves, Dragons and Unexpected Kings

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

* * *

Twelve. Twelve dwarfs in her home, in her kitchen, in her larder mucking up the works.

"You there," She called. "Do _not_ use that as a napkin; I crocheted that myself. Down. Thank you. Kili! Set that cup down this instant; it is decorative and quite delicate-" There was barely a crack as the porcelain crumbled beneath his great sausage fingers.

"So sorry, Miss Baggins." He dropped the bits into a pathetic, little pile.

Molly pinched her nose and counted to ten. When that didn't work, she counted to twenty.

Dwarves were a menace. Look at this place; it would take days to get rid of the stench alone, nevermind the-

"Ah, Miss Baggins." That voice. That horridly amused voice. "Enjoying yourself, are you?"

"Gandalf." Molly rounded on the daft, old wizard with an accusing finger. "This is all your rubbish, isn't it? There are twelve- _twelve-_ sweaty, dirty, foul-smelling, horrid-"

"Uncouth?" One with a three braided beard supplied.

"Uncouth-" Molly nodded.

Fili raised his mug. "Oafish."

"Thank you. Oafish-"

"Handsome."

"Handso-" She caught herself and pointed at Kili. "Off _you_ go. Go on."

Molly was sure she looked a mess; hot, blistered cheeks that looked like she'd lain on a hotplate, frizzy hair, flaring nostrils and a wrinkled dress.

"Dwarves are a merry folk." Gandalf seemed uncaring of her plight as he puffed on his pipe. "I see you know Kili and, likely, his brother Fili." But of _course_ they were related. "The gentleman with the tattooed head is Dwalin." Man-beast. "Balin." Old man. "There's Nori, Dori and Ori. Gloin and Oin. And then we have Bifur, Bofur and Bombur. Hmm…it appears we are a dwarf short. No offence."

"That'll be Thorin," Balin chuckled. "Lad always was late to counsel."

Molly didn't care much for dwarves, she decided. Especially not thirteen and especially not when she could see them in her dining room with her good ceramic plates…

 _With her good ceramic plates_.

"You lot be careful with those." She hustled into the kitchen as quick as her hobbity feet could take her and snatched Grandfather Baggins's silverware set right out of….Axe-Head's….hands.

Those were for special occasions only. It mattered little she'd had no special occasions to use said cutlery; it was the principle of the thing.

Dwarves were settling down at the table- _her_ table-pushing each other and acting barbaric, grabbing for food like ravenous beasts.

A roll flew over her head. Right over it!

Molly was appalled at the blatant lack of table manners. It was awfully important to have basic table manners; no one'd want to dine with you otherwise.

"Who want's ale?" Fili hopped right up onto her table with his mucky boots and a dozen mugs, spilling everywhere. "Ale?"

Poor Molly stood there with her little hobbit tummy rumbling and her little hobbit heart thumping madly. All of her precious food down naughty dwarf gullets; gone forever.

That cheese was going into a soufflé, she thought sadly. Those carrots currently dotting dwarven beards were going to be a part of a lovely stew. I had it all planed, right down to the smallest crumb and lightest seasoning.

And now the dwarves were singing. With. Their. Mouths. Full.

Molly was sure their mother's would be proud as a pickle.

"Excuse me, Miss Hobbit." A young dwarf-Ori, she believed- tapped her shoulder with a shy smile. "What should I do with my plate?"

"Well, lad," She chose to ignore the 'Miss Hobbit'. "You can stick that plate right up your-"

"Give it here, Ori." Fili held up his hands. Across the room.

Molly squealed like a stuck pig as her mother's ceramic plate was carelessly tossed into the air. "How could you?!"

Relief filled her hectic heart as Fili plucked it from the air effortlessly. Suddenly there were plates and bowls and spoons and knives all above her head as if they'd grow wings.

Molly refused to watch and shut her eyes tight. If there was even a single _chip_ on _any_ of her mother's dishes there would be a Scene. There'd be twelve dwarves who wished they'd been born without ears, she'd box them so much.

But there were no crashes, no bangs or clatters. Molly gingerly opened her eyes to a stack of clean-seemingly chipless-dishes and a gathering of laughing dwarves.

"Almost gave me a heart attack, you did." Molly barely had time to breath and there were two very loud, very distinct knocks on the door.

All the laughing died.

Gandalf blew out a ring of blue smoke with a twinkle in his eye. "He's here."

* * *

"Molly Baggins, might I introduce you to the leader of this merry company…Thorin Oakenshield."

This dwarf was quite unlike the others; in stature and presence. He entered her home as if he owned it, regarding her with an intensity that made her toes twitch uncomfortably.

"This is the hobbit?" the dwarf stalked around her, like a wolf circling his prey. "Tell me, do you prefer axes, swords or bows?"

Molly twiddled her thumbs nervously. "None of the above, I suppose."

Weapons were not kept in the Shire; no use for them. Mum's old daggers were hanging above the mantle but they'd been there for quite some time.

The dwarf's icy eyes narrowed to slits. "I see. Just as I thought; more a housewife than a burglar."

"I am no housewife, sir." The dwarf had turned his back on her but glanced over his shoulder, past his flowing, wavy mane that shined from strands of silver in the firelight. "I am Molly. Molly Baggins. And this is my home and I shan't be disrespected in it."

"Indeed." She certainly had the dwarf's attention now, though she wasn't sure she wanted it. So, like any decent hobbit would, Molly offered her hand to be shook.

If looks could burn, her hand would be aflame, of that she was sure.

Thorin did take her hand but he did not shake it. The dwarf bent and lifted her hand to his lips; his beard tickled her soft skin.

"Thorin II Oakenshield, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, King under the mountain, at your service."

"Oi! I got a talking to for doing that."

Molly cleared her throat and firmly brought her hand back to where it belonged. "Molly Baggins…at yours"

Did he say king? He did, she was sure. There was a king in Molly Baggins's home. Mum would have a-

…there was a _king_ in her home.

Molly blanched. No. No, she was in no mind to entertain a king. Her kitchen was all but ruined, there were curious stains on the ceiling and she didn't want to _think_ about that smell coming from the loo.

"Well, then." Gandalf smiled happily to himself. "That went better than imagined. Molly, if you would be so kind as to follow us to the dining room?"

Molly did as asked dutifully and settled in nicely between Gandalf and…the fat one whom she'd not remembered the name of just yet.

If only she'd known he was coming, the king wouldn't be eating sloppy-looking, second-hand stew out of a wooden bowl. Although the dwarves had raided her poor larder so, likely, he'd be eating sloppy-looking, second-hand stew out of a _nicer_ bowl.

"What of Dain?" Man-beast pressed his knuckles into the table. "Is he with us?"

The king laid his spoon down and leaned back in his chair with an audible creak that made her cringe. These chairs were made by hobbit hands for hobbit behinds, not massive dwarf.

"They will not come." He spoke solemnly. "They say this quest is ours and ours alone."

A sort of shadow fell over the table then, palpable and sorrowful.

"Quest?" Molly found her voice among the rabble of silence. "What sort of quest?"

Gandalf brought out a folded piece of parchment from the folds of his robe and laid it out flat on the table. Molly nearly broke her neck to see passed the old goat.

"The Lonely Mountain." She read softly.

Gandalf nodded, taking a puff of his pipe. "Far to the east a single mountain rises from the earth, reaching toward the heavens in all its splendor. Quite the sight to behold, my dear Molly for it also runs deep beneath the surface for miles."

"Aye. Oin, tell them-"

"Ravens have been seen flying back to the mountain," Oin said then closed his eyes tight. "When the birds of yore return to Erbor, the reign of the beast will end."

Molly's brows shot right up into her hairline. "Beast? There's a beast?"

"That would be a reference to Smaug the Terrible." The dwarf with the silly had offered. "Chiefest and greatest calamity of our age. Airborne fire-breather, teeth like razors, soul as black as a moonless night and a temper to boot."

"A…dragon, then?"

Oin shot up, red-faced and huffing. "I'm not scared! I'll give him a taste of dwarfish iron, right up his jacksie!"

A ruckus erupted among the dwarves; cheering, jeering and arguing.

"A quest difficult enough with an army behind us," Balin didn't raise his voice but it was heard above the din. "We number just thirteen and not thirteen of the best nor brightest."

"That may be but we're fighters," Fili pounded his fist on the table. "All of us, down to the last dwarf and we'll take back what's ours."

"And you forget," Kili beamed. "We have a _wizard_ in our company. Gandalf must've killed hundreds of dragons in his time."

"Positively. Told me all about it, he has." Molly beamed as Gandalf choked on smoke. Bring thirteen dwarves into _my_ home without proper notice…

"Really? Come on, give us a number."

"Well-I"

"I'll bet it's higher than twenty!"

"More like around five, laddie."

"Twenty!"

Suddenly there were dwarves everywhere fighting and yelling and getting their nasty spittle on her table.

"Would you please-" she tired. "Excuse me but-" Molly jumped to her feet and banged her fist on the table to no avail.

" _Shazara!"_ the king shot from his chair with a force that knocked it clean over. "If we have read the signs, do you not _think_ others have seen them too? The dragon Smaug has not been seen for 60 years. Eyes look the east; waiting, wondering, weighing the risk. Perhaps the vast wealth of our people now lay unprotected. Do you sit back and bicker while they take what is rightfully ours, or do you seize this chance to take back Erbor?!"

The dwarves cheered.

"You forget; the gate is sealed." Balin mentioned. "There's no way into the mountain."

"That, dear Balin, is not entirely true." Gandalf twiddled his fingers and produced a key; rusty-looking, clearly old and oddly shaped. "This was given to me by Thrain, for safekeeping. It is yours now."

Molly watched the king's fingers close reverently around the key.

"If there is a key, then there must be a door." Fili sounded stunned; real. Molly heard the wonderment and hope in his voice.

"There's another way in."

"Well, if we can find it; dwarf doors are invisible when closed. The answer lies somewhere in this map though I do not have the skill to read it, there are others who can. The task I have in mind will require a great deal of stealth and no small amount of courage but I believe it can be done."

Ori smiled brightly. "That's why we need a burglar."

Molly laughed. "You'll need far more than a burglar, dears."

"Is that so?" the king drawled, staring her down from the end of the table. "And what else could a hobbit-a female no less-offer?"

Molly felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. "I shall have you know-"

Gandalf squeezed her shoulder no-too-lightly. "Hobbits are light on their feet and fast." He said. "And, while the dragon is accustomed to the smell of dwarf, the scent of hobbit is all but unknown to him. Is that not an advantage? Thorin Oakenshield, you have asked me to find the fourteenth member of your company and I have chosen Miss Baggins. I ask that you _both_ trust me in this."

Thorin's face was as stone then he nodded once and snapped his fingers. "Give her the contract."

"Contract?" Molly was beyond flustered as a very pristine, very important-looking document was hurled her way.

"Just the usual, lass. Out-of-pocket expenses, time required," She unfurled the parchment and begun to read. "Funeral arrangements and so forth."

And her head shot up faster than a shooting star. "Funeral arrangements?"

"Aye, lass." Oh, no. Not silly hat again. "Due to the dragon and all. Melt the skin right off your bones; we'll need to know how to honor you if there isn't anything left to honor."

Molly blinked like a madwoman.

"Think furnace with wings."

She gulped. "I-I see." A future flashed before her eyes of a pathetic heap of ashes that once was a little hobbit named Molly. They'd probably scoop her up in a dustpan. Assuming there was anything to scoop.

"No." She shook her head and threw the contract down with unladylike force. "No. No. No. No. I'm a hobbit not a burglar and I am _certainly_ not kindling but I do think I'm going to be ill so If you'll excuse me."

And she was ill; unfortunately it was over all her beautiful hydrangeas.

Molly coughed, bent over the flows and praying that none of her neighbors could see or hear her. They'd think she was drunk or worse and she did not feel like addressing _those_ rumors tomorrow.

When she was finished, she sat back against her fence and wiped the sweat from her brow.

"Are you quite alright, Miss?" She heard nothing but concern in the young dwarf's voice.  
"Oh, Fili." Magnificent. "Besides smelling and tasting sick, I'm pretty as a peach."

"I've smelled of worse." Fili laughed, slipping down beside her in the dark. "We were worried about you."

Molly hummed softly, listening to the night bugs chirp and knowing full well that the nasty little things were munching on her garden as they spoke.

Who would take care of it if she were gone? No one that's who. When-if-she came home; it'd be to a rotten graveyard and a musty hole in the ground that hadn't seen air in who knows how long.

"Do you know how many meals a day hobbits eat, lad?" She said, quite out of the blue. "Six; six hearty meals a day to keep the sickness away and put some meat on these bones. Can't imagine I'd get six meals a day out questing."

"No. No you won't, Miss Baggins." Fili agreed. "And you won't have your mother's ceramic plates or your warm bed or comfy chairs-"

"That's what I thought." She nodded to herself.

"-but you'll have been a part of something great." He finished, leaning back comfortably with his arm propped on his bowed leg. "Hobbits will tell stories of your deeds for many years to come."

At that, Molly sighed. "That, dear lad, is what I am afraid of. I'm quite sorry," she said, coming shakily to her feet. "But I'm not the burglar you think I am. I'm not a burglar at all. The company is, of course, welcome to stay the night. Goodnight, Fili."

And Molly grabbed skirt and ran; ran until she found herself safe and snug in her bedroom surrounded by her books, smelling-herbs and the drying remains of the horrid insects that plagued her garden-forever preserved between pockets of glass.

"Questing," she mumbled as she plopped herself down before her mother's vanity. "Nasty things, quests."

Molly twisted her copper curls into a loose bun atop her head for sleeping and shrugged out of her dress to change into her nightclothes.

And with thirteen males, no less. How would she change? How would she bathe? Or...use the facilities? And, assuming she returned to the shire, her reputation would be irreparable-worse off than it was now.

No. Come morning, Molly Baggins, daughter of Bungo and Belladonna Baggins would _not_ be doing any questing. No thank you.


End file.
